


Soot and Honey

by trollabundin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Derogatory Language, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Prostitution, Sex Magic, Size Kink, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2020-09-29 23:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20444138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trollabundin/pseuds/trollabundin
Summary: ““You see, Your Grace.. Ashara here has a very..particular.. set ofskills, that might please any man. She was especially trained to accommodate any man's desires; toreadhim and give him anything he needs. Even a man as cold as Sandor Clegane would be unable to resist her charms..”, Petyr explained.Now, the king grinned from ear to ear.”Joffrey decides to get his loyal dog a toy to vent his frustrations on. The Hound is rather unenthusiastic about the new woman that has been forced into his life, but soon learns that he might not hate her as much as his fear of rejection led him to believe. While he starts opening up to her, the royal court has taken note of Ashara's skills and plans to use her in their political intrigues.A story set mainly during seasons 1, 2, 8 plus some check-ins in between, in which I attempt to explore Sandor Clegane's character through love, hate, insecurity, fear and heartbreak.First “chapter” is actually just notes, more elaborate TWs and clarifications you should totally read before diving into the actual fic! Thank you!!Also: my OC Ashara is NOT Ashara Dayne and has nothing to do with her!





	1. Preface

PLEASE READ (the first 7 points are most important)  
Warnings/ Explanations:

1\. **TW**: Mental health, specifically depression, Sandor's trauma, general abuse mentioned  
2\. **TW**: Canon-typical sexworker-shaming. I'm completely supportive of sex workers irl, I just stuck to using canon/ lore-friendly language for my story to really fit in  
3\. **TW**: Possibly objectifying descriptions of women's bodies, some of the descriptions + size kink references may be triggering for ED sufferers due to size/ shape descriptions (though nothing negative about anyone's body shape, just descriptions themselves, mostly of OC)  
4\. NO Sansa bashing on my end, I love her, but want to make it clear that at least for my story, Sandor's feelings for her are strictly fatherly/ protective, no romantic/ sexual interest between them at any point in time  
5\. I really wanted my OC to fit into the plot (of the show, as I have not yet finished reading all of the books + Martin hasn't finished writing them anyway; though I've taken some details/ extra info out of the book lore) so tried to really make sure I bounced off of actual things that happened in the show. So basically anything that happens in the show still happens between my chapters, I try to give several references as to what happened right before MY storyline picks up again, and will even pick up some of the dialogue of the show in later chapters. My apologies if there's any plotholes, overlooked details or timelines that don't fit completely, I really tried my best at making my OC fit into the show/ world seamlessly like an added side-story without wanting to copy/ reiterate too much of the actual show plot.  
→ with that said, there obviously will be spoilers (for all seasons with the Hound). However, I still tagged this fic as canon divergence since my OC's existence does of course somewhat change the Hound, some misc details and some of the show plot later on. I'm completely new to this so don't be afraid to tell me if I'm wrong or overthinking this lol.  
6\. All of the chapters are planned out, so this WILL 100% be finished, I just don't know how fast because of uni-work. I will update frequently if I'm certain I'll have time to write the remaining chapters soon, otherwise I'll space them out so that the wait between chapters doesn't get too long. If the wait **does** ever get too long, please trust me that this fic has not and never will be forgotten; in those cases I'll either just be super busy with real life, or having trouble writing! Length of the chapters varies greatly, some chapters will be much longer, some shorter.  
7\. Just in case there are any moments of doubt during any sex scenes: **ALL SEX IN THIS FIC IS CONSENSUAL!** SPOILERS: Ashara NEVER forces herself onto the Hound, it is in the nature of her magic to figure out what her partners TRULY want. Our lil puppy is just too insecure to put his wants into words.  
8\. I retroactively decided to actually name the chapters since this whole number thing is getting confusing. All chapters will be named after song titles, just in case any of them seem familiar ;)  
9\. This is the first thing I've written in YEARS and the very first I've ever published so I'm super nervous and hope you like it. Obligatory English-is-not-my-first-language lol + I don't have a beta reader  
10\. I DO NOT OWN GAME OF THRONES / A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS, PLOT, NAMES, PLACES, WORLD-BUILDING, ETC. NOTHING – JUST MY OWN STORYLINE INCLUDING MY ORIGINAL CHARACTERS.


	2. 1: Where The Wild Roses Grow

“Lord Baelish! His Grace, the King, has blessed us with a visit and requires your assistance!“, he heard one of the servant girls call out.  
Surprised by the mere suggestion that the young king, Joffrey Baratheon, was not only roaming the common streets so far beyond the Red Keep, but entering the high-end brothel he owned, Petyr Baelish made for the entrance at once, neglecting his business at the back of the whorehouse.  
Attended to by two of the servants and the brothel's nervously smiling hostess, stood the arrogant boy king, with a slightly disgusted look on his face. Behind him waited two members of the Kingsguard, Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Mandon Moore.  
As soon as Joffrey saw Petyr come around the corner, his expression changed to that of a smug grin.  
“Your Grace! What an honour it is to have you here in one of my establishments”, Baelish announced with a sly smile and gave a short bow before the king, only then ushering away the servant girls.  
“Spare me the courtesies, Littlefinger.. I've come here to find a new toy”, Joffrey responded.  
“Forgive me, Your Highness, for I do not know your.. preferences”, Petyr started, before the king could continue, “But I am sure we will find some fine girls for both yourself and your two guardsmen. You have come to the right place for a splendid time.”  
“Oh, I'm not interested in any of your low-life wenches for my own sake. I'm looking for a toy for my _dog_”, grinned Joffrey.  
Petyr stalled. His _dog_? The Hound? He was not unfamiliar with the looming shadow that was Sandor Clegane, and knew how much trouble he caused whenever he entered a whorehouse, for no woman would willingly bed the brute giant, most not even if they were payed a handsome fare well above their worth. They were too afraid of not only his sheer size, but of his grim demeanour and the reputation that the huge, angry red scar that covered half his face gave him.  
“Yes, Your Grace, let me think on this.. Clegane is a big man of course, and he requires a sturdy girl so as not to crush her..” Petyr thought aloud.  
“I don't care about that. He can do with her as he pleases. Should he break her, I'll just get him a new one”, said the king bluntly. His men laughed at that.  
“Of course, Your Grace”, Baelish replied as he gave a light chuckle, to appease Joffrey. Even he thought that the boy was cruel, unnecessarily so. Yet he did not want to lose any of his girls if he could prevent it. After all, hiring new ones was more costly, especially if the Hound was to plow through woman after woman like his brother, the Mountain That Rides. “Danya, Loria, Morgana. Come and present yourselves to your king”, Petyr commanded as he snapped his fingers in their direction.  
The three girls appeared quickly and bowed, before standing upright to push out their bosoms visible through the flimsy fabric of their dresses. They giggled and squirmed before the king, as if they hadn't been eavesdropping on them and didn't know they weren't going to be pleasuring Joffrey himself. Perhaps they still hoped to sway his mind when he recognised their beauty.  
And beautiful they were, each in their own way, but what they all had in common was their tall height, all of them taller than the boy king, their broad hips and the slight muscle that added to their form. They were strong as they were beautiful, a feature most important if they were to lay with the Hound, large and presumably violent in bed as he was on the battlefield.  
The young Baratheon barely glanced each woman over once before declaring none of them fit to what he was looking for.  
Petyr hid a frown behind his mask of a smile and asked, “So what exactly is it that you are seeking, Your Grace? If you were to tell me about Clegane's likes, or perhaps even the reason for this generous gift you are granting him, I might be able to advise you more efficiently..”  
“As you know, master of coin, my dog has been appointed to the office of the Kingsguard”, Joffrey reminded him, “so as a reward for his loyalty, as well as to keep him.. _balanced_.. I am looking for a bitch for him to breed.. to _vent_ on.”  
“Well,”, Petyr started, “in that case.. I have a very special girl, no, a lady, that I trust would be just the right choice to _balance_ your loyal soldier.. _Ashara_!”  
Out of the same corner that Baelish himself had just come around from, a much smaller woman emerged. She smiled gracefully, courtesied before the king, and slid in under Petyr's waiting arm, grasping her and holding her close to him. The three taller women stepped aside, scoffing and going back to their respective rooms.  
Ashara was young and very short in height, slim yet shapely in all the places men usually cared for. Her long, dark hair flowed down her back in loose curls, with dark eyes to match, though they glinted in the light. She wore a delicate light blue silk dress that barely hid anything from sight, just like those of her fellow ladies of the night, albeit spun out of a much more expensive fabric. Her silver jewellery contrasted greatly with the pale golden tones in her skin.  
“You see, Your Grace.. Ashara here has a very.. _particular_.. set of skills, that might please any man. She was especially trained to accommodate any man's desires; to _read_ him and give him anything he needs. Even a man as cold as Sandor Clegane would be unable to resist her charms..”, Petyr explained.  
Now, the king grinned from ear to ear. “I care less about the details of your whore's services, but even more so about how great of a sight it would be should the Hound tear a woman of her size in two.”  
Petyr smiled at Ashara, and she smiled back at him, ignoring the half-threats of their king. “Oh, she is stronger and sturdier than she looks, Your Grace. But either way, it looks like we have found a match for your brutish guard! I never thought my prized poss.. my prized lady would one day be bed by the Hound. When would you like her to be sent to Clegane's chambers, Your Highness?”  
“We shall take her with us immediately”, the king declared.  
“Very well, a spontaneous appointment.. I'm sure the lord that has already payed for this evening with her will understand..”  
“Good.”  
“When can we expect her back, Your Grace?”  
“We will see how long it will take for my dog to tire of her.. or how long she will last. A few days, or a few weeks, perhaps? It can't be more than a few months”, the king said and Petyr wished nothing more than to wipe that disgustingly smug grin off of his face. His smile faded now.  
“Oh, forgive me, Your Grace, but I cannot give you her for good, you see, she is a very important core part of this establishment, we would suffer greatly, if it wasn't for her.. Besides, a single night with her is already quite expensive as it is, given her aforementioned skills.. As master of coin, I must inform you that spending this much gold on a.. whore.. for a.. guard.. that isn't even a knight, would be most unwise..”, Baelish tried to reason.  
“Unwise? Do you take me for a foolish child, that cannot make his own financial decisions, Littlefinger?!”, screeched Joffrey. Petyr was not in the mood for the young king's hysterics.  
“Of course not, Your Grace. Forgive my own foolishness, I did not mean to berate or offend you. I had thought something like a weekly arrangement might be better suited.”  
“Deny me once more and I shall have Ser Trant teach you what it means to refuse me.”  
Petyr could not stand to lose her, but with a king as young and ill-tempered as Joffrey, his clever words were of no use. He had to hope that the Hound had a taste as bad as he thought, but at the same time, he knew things were different with Ashara.  
“As you wish, Your Highness”, he yielded at last. “The Lady Ashara will prepare herself and pack her belongings to follow you right away.” He turned his eyes towards her, still resting in his arm and gave her a long, much saying look. She smiled at him knowingly, reassuring him, then bowing her head before disappearing into the back of the brothel to fetch her items.


	3. 2: Son Of Nothing

While he was sworn to protect the king first and foremost, handed over to Joffrey by his mother Cersei, and now having joined the Kingsguard, Sandor Clegane was still occasionally bid to follow around the queen regent on her business. Today was one such a day, with the king away, seen to by some other members of his personal guard. Sandor didn't give a shit either way, as he hated them all the same. Though the queen was less annoying than her king son, she was still cruel and Sandor did not like her arrogance. Today, he had to attend her as she was grooming the young Stark girl, Sansa, manipulating her into whatever Cersei needed her to be for her political schemes. At least if the girl complied, less harm would come to her.  
As he thought about Sansa and what a pity it was that something so pure and innocent got tied up in the Lannister's sinister games, he opened the heavy wooden door to his chambers. Absent-mindedly, he placed his helmet onto its stand and sat at the table under one of the windows of his small room, taking an empty cup and choosing one of his stronger wines to fill it with. He lifted the cup up to his mouth.  
“Is that a way to greet a lady? Or rather, not greet her at all?”, a soft voice called to him.  
Sandor spat and almost sent his cup flying at the nearest wall as he quickly stood up, his free hand grasping the hilt of his sword, when he first saw her. A woman, laying on his bed, propped up on her elbows. Somewhat relieved, he loosened the grip on his sword, yet a new type of anger rose when he noticed how suspiciously beautiful the stranger on his bed was.  
“Who in the seven hells are you, woman?! And what are you doing in my chambers?!”, he demanded. He noticed how thin the silk of her sky blue garment was, concealing near nothing from his eyes. “I didn't order no whore, you're in the wrong part of the Keep.”  
“I'm exactly where I need to be. I'm your new gift from the king”, she replied, smiling softly.  
Sandor furrowed his brows. “Gift? The only gift you could give me would be to shut your mouth and leave at once! What's this mockery you're making of me?!” He moved towards her where she was laying on his bed, two of his long strides and he was almost on her. She pushed herself upwards to sit on the edge of the bed. “Why'd the king 'gift' me something? Much less something like you?”, he spat angrily, “D'you take me for such a fool that you'd think I'd believe this shit? I'll ask you this only once, _who_ sent you? Was it Trant and the other morons? Is he gonna barge in as soon as you've got my clothes off, to laugh at me? Tell me!”  
The younger Clegane seethed with anger, eyes ready to kill as he clutched his sword harder once again. The other men of the Kingsguard had been mocking him as of late, and he did not like to be mocked. It reeked of Trant to place a beautiful woman into his hands, have him lust over her and then take her away at the last minute, to catch him with his pants down and forbidding him the release he would build up to. The scarred side of his face was itching as he twisted his face in rage. Even after so many years, from when he was a little boy, the scarring had never healed completely because of his constant scratching. The fact that he never let a maester near it did not particularly help. He stared into her eyes, his dark grey ones trying to drown her warm brown.  
Now it was her time to stand. “You. Will not. Kill me.”  
And just with that, strangely, he felt his anger subside. Of course he was not going to kill her, why would he? She was just a woman, he reasoned. If anyone was to blame, it was whoever sent her, but why would he be angry with her? He scoffed and gave a pitiful laugh that sounded more like a distant rumble in his wide chest. He let the hand on the hilt of his sword fall to his side and took a few small steps back, chuckling nervously. “I wasn't going to. I don't kill no women half my size. I.. didn't mean to scare you, m'lady.”  
As she straightened herself, he noticed she had contorted her fingers into strange positions at her sides. Now, she was quickly wiping a tear from her face. Sandor sat back down in his chair, to make himself smaller. Suddenly, he felt bad for how he had shouted at her. He knew the effect he had on people, especially women like her. He avoided whorehouses nowadays, he was tired of the fear and disgust the women there always regarded him with. The amount of extra gold he had had to pay for just a quick fuck with women that despised him wasn't worth it anymore.  
Yet Sandor Clegane was not daft enough not to notice that this was no ordinary whore they had placed into his chambers. She was ethereal, he had to admit to himself.  
“So.. Let's try again, why don't we? Tell me your name and that of whomever sent you”, he tried.  
She cleared her throat, and after composing herself, repeated, “As I have just told you before, my lord, I was sent to you by His Grace King Joffrey, to serve as a gift for your new appointment as member of the Kingsguard. I am here to please you in any way that I can, specifically using the womanly arts.”  
Sandor Clegane snorted. “It's very unlike His Grace to gift people things. At least not without some darker, less generous intentions in mind.”  
“He expects you to break me”, the woman replied defiantly, with a cock of one of her neatly trimmed brows.  
Sandor sighed before giving her a half smile. “Now I understand. You still haven't given me your name, though.”  
“It is Ashara, my lord.”  
“I am no lord, woman. But you don't look like any ordinary whore, Ashara..?”  
“..of Lys”, she crossed her hands in front of her and gave a small bow.  
“Of Lys?”, the Hound grumbled, “Long way from home, then.”  
Ashara gave a single nod. “I come from the supple city of Lys, where I was taught in the arts sacred to the female body, to read a man's mind and grant him whatever he desires before even he is aware of it”, she seemed to recite from memory.  
Sandor let out a gruesome laugh before tending to his nearly forgotten cup of wine. “Tha's a fine way to say you're an expensive, exotic whore.” She looked at him coolly. “Read me then. Tell me what I so desire that I'm too stupid to know myself. I'll be damned if it's anything else than wanting you to fuck off and Joffrey to eat his own shit.”  
Ashara slowly took the few steps over to where he was sitting and leaned against the small table. She covered his one hand that was resting on the table with both of hers. His hands were large, like the man himself, calloused and roughened by war. Her own hands dwarfed in comparison to his. Sandor narrowed his eyes but did not raise his voice to protest her touch. Her hands felt soft and gentle to him. He never got to touch anything soft or gentle nowadays. Now that she was so close, he noticed that she smelled of lavender.  
Ashara lowered her eyes. After a moment, she winced. She looked back up at Clegane, gazing into his eyes while a sympathetic smile played on her face. “It must have hurt. So, so badly. For you to have become the man that you are today.”  
Sandor furrowed his one good brow and snarled, “Don't you dare pity me for this”, he pointed to the burnt side of his face. “Keep your pity for yourself, you'll need it.”  
“I shall pity whom I will. But I was not talking about your face. Or at least, not that alone”, she gave another smile, a different one, with something cunning residing in it, “it must have hurt so badly to be constantly.. overshadowed. Wherever you went, whatever you did, in your father's eyes, there was always that _mountain_ looming over your achievements, making even your most impressive successes look small and undeserving of praise. He even told lies when it came to protecting your brother for the crime he committed against you”, her tone was almost mocking, _too_ mocking for his taste, “you grew up in a cold world, and now you think you need to be cold to everyone around you. You have _become_ the cold, at your core, yet you refuse to see how it eats at you. Chips away at you. Not only are you cold to others, but worse, you are cold to yourself. Tell me, do you think that the cold will undo what the heat did to your face, when your brother marked you for life? When he held your face into the fire?”, he could not answer, “and not only _did_ it hurt, no, it still hurts. It still pains you when people look at you like the monster that you fear you are. You try to use your appearance as a weapon, but deep within it still pains you that you are horrifying enough that you would pass as one. As a weapon.”  
The younger Clegane dared not move, as his anger rose with every word she spoke. He was trembling with fury and perhaps even fear as he seethed, his words merely a whisper, “_Who told you all this? About my brother?_”  
Ashara lifted one of her hands up to his face, cupping his unburnt cheek. “Why, you did. And now, all that you crave is someone to listen. Like your sister once did, before _he_ killed her. To listen without judgement, without making light of you, without using your weaknesses against you, not wishing you any ill. You just want someone to hear you and tend to you and caress you, calm you and love you. To make you feel less alone in the cold. To _balance_ the cold and the warmth within you”, she pushed herself off the table, let go of his hand and his cheek, and knelt between his legs. Wiping each hand over each of his forearms, the vambraces he had been wearing fell to the ground effortlessly with a _clunk_. “_That_ is what you desire. And that is what I am here to grant you.”  
Sandor Clegane could not stop himself from shivering as his hand found its way back to the hilt of his sword. “_Witch_”, he spat, “You're a fucking witch, tha's what you are. Tha's how you know these things, no other way. You cursed me, you did! Tha's why I daren't kill you.”  
A single tear seemed to well in his eye at the good side of his face.  
Ashara smirked. King Joffrey would be very disappointed, but her master, Lord Baelish, would be even happier. The Hound would never break her. In fact, how she saw it, she had just broken the Hound.  
“I'm afraid that is not what a curse entails, my lord. I was merely protecting myself from your wrath. Curses do not protect, they harm. I am not here to harm you, Sandor”, the man flinched when she said his given name, “I am here to serve you. So let me do as I was paid to, for I know you want me to.”  
Without another word from him, she opened the tyings of the leather breeches he wore underneath his armour, freed his manhood and palmed it firmly in her hands before taking it into her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Sandor! And a first taste of what Ashara is all about.


	4. 3: Hand Of Doom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now in the correct chapter order! Seems like I messed something up earlier and accidentally posted this chapter before the second one /facepalm

It had been a fortnight that Ashara of Lys had been living in the Red Keep, in the Hound's quarters. She had made herself comfortable, had rearranged the small space that was his chambers to better accommodate both of their respective belongings. She had asked two of the cleaning maids to sweep the floors, dust the furniture and change their now shared bedsheets, as Sandor rarely let the servants in. She had aired out the room and lightened herbal, flowery incense. If she had to live and lie with a brute such as the Hound, she would at least do so in dignity, in an environment worthy of her services.  
In the first few days following them getting to know each other, Clegane had opted to ignore her, both of resentment and of fear of what power she might hold over his mind. But on the sixth day, when he'd already had enough of taking way too bloody long each time he was searching for something in the new order that the woman had forced onto his chambers, he started a fight with her, yelling at her about how when his space was in chaos, at least it was an “organised chaos” and he knew where to find whatever he needed. She had just called him a stubborn child. It all ended in her dropping to her knees in front of him as she had done on their first day, and he said no more of the changes she had instilled on his area.

Ashara was stitching shut a hole in one of Sandor's winter cloaks, when a knock came on the heavy oak door. An odd occurrence, seeing as the Hound never got many visitors and he was still on duty with the king, regardless. “Come in”, she called.  
The door opened and in came a bald, plump man with powdered cheeks. She had seen him before, an acquaintance of Lord Baelish's, yet she could not quite place him in her mind.  
“Oh, forgive me my lady, I had hoped to catch Lord Clegane and deliver him this letter”, the man said as he produced a small scroll from his sleeve, “I did not mean to impose on you.”  
“Do not fret my lord, you are most welcome. I shall accept this letter and give it to Sandor as soon as he returns”, Ashara smiled as she lay down her stitching. She stood and walked over to where the strange man stood, noting his faint Lysene accent. She was happy to speak to someone that was not either the Hound or a servant girl. She was a lady of the night, yes, but she was not used to being enclosed in a single man's chambers with no contact to the outside world. In her eyes, she was no common whore that should have to hide before the lords and ladies of the court. But the Hound had asked her not to roam too far away from his place in the White Sword Tower.  
“You must be the Lady Ashara. Word spreads fast in the royal court, you see”, the man explained as he took her hands in his slightly sweaty ones, “You may call me Varys, my lady. I sit on the small council and coincidentally, I am one of the only fellow Lyseni you might meet during your stay at the Red Keep. In a place like this, it can be quite important to have friends, you see, true friends.”  
It was at this point that Ashara realised that this man, Varys, had come to the Hound's chambers at precisely the moment that he had intended. She remembered then what Lord Baelish called the man: the Spider. A eunuch. At once, she needed to know what his motive was. She lowered her eyes, her hands still within his, as he pushed the scroll into her palms.  
“Oh, no, no need for that, my lady”, Varys said with a peculiar smile on his face, “I want us to trust each other, and be open with one another, as true friends are. No need for magic tricks,” he leaned in close, his heavy perfumes assaulting her nose, and spoke directly into her ear, “I had mixed up and ingested some herbs earlier to shield me from telepathy, you see.”  
Ashara swallowed. So he knew. “I'm afraid you must tell me about your desires on your own then, Lord Varys.”  
The eunuch released her hands, still smiling eerily. Taking a step back, he looked around the room, taking particular interest in the Lysene jewellery and the silk dresses Ashara had ordered from the skilled tailors of High Garden that lay on the bed from when she had still been choosing which one to wear that day. “My lady, I have not come to fulfil my own needs. I no longer have the.. parts, required for you to perform your usual tasks. But, you see, I serve the realm, and the realm only. And that realm, my dear, could use your skills. You would be most helpful to us, the small council, in fighting for justice. The king's justice, of course.”  
Ashara wondered if the Spider had been sent by Lord Baelish, as some sort of trick to test her loyalty. Surely, if she had seen him before, a man of Varys' intellect must have noticed her as well. Something about the way he came to her to ask her to do his bidding, as if the council's bidding wasn't Petyr's as well, struck her as queer. She did not trust the man and she was sure he was less of a friend to her than even the Hound.  
“My Lord Varys, as much as I would agree that the needs of the realm must be met first and foremost, I think it would be most unwise to agree to serve _you_ without informing my master, Lord Baelish, first”, Ashara started as she carefully weighed her words in her mind, “I'm sure if he saw the purity of your intentions, he would not be opposed to me lending you a helping hand, but seeing as you are colleagues and it would be so simple for the both of you to converse over this matter, I think you should speak to him first and I will do so as well”, she ended with a slight edge of sharpness to her voice, barely concealed behind forced manners.  
The Spider's face dropped to an impatient grimace, and just as he had opened his mouth to speak, the door swung open and in came Sandor Clegane, stopping right in the middle of the doorway when he saw the eunuch.  
“What bloody business do _you_ have here?”, the larger man demanded. He towered menacingly over Varys.  
The Spider gave another one of his fake smiles and turned to leave, the Hound stepping away from the door to make space for the plump man. “I was just here to deliver a letter, Clegane. To you, of course, but then I could not resist a little chat with that striking new lady of yours. Now, I must excuse myself, unfortunately. The small council awaits me.” And with that, he gave a small bow to each of them and left. Sandor shut the door behind him loudly and leaned against it with his one arm.  
“Care to explain, woman?”, he barked at her, “What, you a spy now, too? Is that what you're here for? To spy on an old dog, report any shit I spew about Joff to the queen's little helpers?”  
Ashara sighed as she handed him the small scroll that she had been holding on to, “My love, Lord Varys himself just told you what he was here for. I am no spy. If I was, I would have had enough to have them send an executioner after you by the end of the first week of my stay.”  
Sandor stared at her open palm, then quickly ripped the paper from her hand. “Do _NOT_ call me that again. Ever!”  
Ashara slid back down to her chair and took up her stitching.  
Without even bothering to take off his armour first, Sandor opened the scroll. He never got letters, so he was very suspicious. What was even more suspicious was the fact that the letter bore no seal.  
He read the words, then crumpled the paper up in his enormous fist and tossed it into the fireplace. Annoyed, he began to open the clasps and fastenings of his armour, not before taking off his sword-belt and placing it and the great longsword it held next to the bed. Ashara rose once more to help him rid himself of the heavy soot-grey steel. He was used to it by now, but never asked her to. “No more magic tricks”, was the only thing he had told her by the second day of her presence.  
Sandor watched the small woman idly as she was undressing him the natural way. Every day, he had to admit to himself more and more how attractive she was to him. He was used to being taller than most everyone, but the way he towered three heads above her small frame made something primal rise in the pit of his stomach. He liked how he seemed to most likely not even have to try to snap her in half at her tiny waist, but at the same time, his hands would be full of her soft flesh if he were to cup her ass. Her breasts would be small in his large hands, but he liked to watch the little buds on top of them stiffen under the thin fabric of her overly revealing dresses and nightgowns whenever it got slightly chilly.  
Not that Sandor would know, seeing as he had not touched her once in the almost two weeks she had lived with him. She had touched him several times, taking his dick into her mouth to let him release there whenever he was angry or stressed, or both. But he would not dare touch her on his own. Not only was he truly afraid of breaking her in two, but he was terrified of _her_. Terrified of what she was and of what she might do to him should he accidentally hurt her with his clumsy, too large hands, and the too strong muscles of his arms, and his utter inability to realise and control his enormous physical strength.  
But even more so, he was terrified of her beauty and the power she wielded over him with that alone. He hated her, found her annoying, and scary, and arrogant, and too lady-like for such a whore, and bitchy, and stubborn, and she definitely needed a good spanking – whether for her own good or his own pleasure he did not know, but he could not deny the way her golden brown eyes made him want to bury his fist in her long, dark tresses and fuck her bloody, especially when she curled up against his back at night, soft hands wrapping around his naked chest from behind. And what he hated the most about it was that she knew all of this, she definitely knew, all of those conflicting feelings he had towards her, his rational, hateful mind fighting against his starved cock.  
Sandor snapped back out of it when he realised she was done, her hands placed on his chest and smiling sweetly up at him, his head clouded with the smell of lavender. In moments like these, he was glad that her reading ability only presented itself when she _actively_ read him instead of her just knowing what he thought at any time and immediately as soon as she'd touch him. By now, he usually knew how to spot her doing it. He grunted at her, which was now his way of thanking her without having to actually grant her the satisfaction of saying a single kind word to her. He hated her, just as he hated all beautiful women that sent his head spinning in a frenzy. Especially since he knew he would never have a chance with one of them. He avoided beautiful women for that reason, but he couldn't avoid her, as the boy king had forced her onto him.  
Sandor sat on the edge of the bed, took out his sword from its sheath and produced a cloth to polish the weapon with out of the pocket of his linen breeches. As he did that, he looked into the fire hesitantly, where the small scrap of paper had burnt up by now.

“Hurt her and I shall send _mountains_ after you”,

it had read.


	5. 4: Eyes On Fire

Just over a week later, and Eddard Stark was dead. Sandor did not care about the man, not for his sake, he did not care about the lords and the ladies and their politics, he was only there to do what he did best. And that was to kill.  
But what did make his head throb about this whole ordeal, was the Stark girl. She did not deserve to suffer. Sandor had not seen anything so sweet and innocent, yet naïve and in his mind probably stupid in a long time. Sansa, the little bird. A child so pure, she had no place in a city like King's Landing. Yet there had been almost nothing he could do for her without betraying his king. He wanted to free her, send her back to Winterfell, but he was certain they would send his brother after him.  
Just today, the boy king had forced Sansa to look upon the spikes that held the heads of her household. Including that of her father. Even threatened to bring her that of her older brother. Sandor had to stand by and watch as Meryn Trant slapped the girl, as well. One day, he hoped to kill the bastard. He was just as cruel as Joffrey himself. _He_ should have been the king's pet, ever so willing to strike a defenceless bird. But Sandor recognised he himself was much more fearsome and strong, helpful characteristics if one had to protect someone as hated as the young Baratheon.  
Sandor was at least halfway contempt with the fact that he had probably been able to save Sansa's life today. Just before she could push Joff off of the Traitor's Walkway, Sandor stopped her and pretended to hand her a handkerchief to wipe her bloody lip with. The king did not notice the attempted murder.  
It was dark when he stormed back to his chambers. Only when he entered the White Sword Tower that housed his own room, his thoughts drifted away from Sansa and to the other young woman he had been forced to care about. He groaned when he reached his door, as he was not in the mood to deal with the whore. She always had this smug, knowing smile on her face, teasing him with just her eyes, as if she was making fun of him. For what he did not know.  
Sandor opened the door and stepped into the room, breathing in the scents of lavender and whatever other plants Ashara was using. It was not an unpleasant smell, in fact, the woman had found just the right amount of fragrance to make the room smell fresh and alive like an herb garden, yet not too strong or perfumated for the brutish man's tastes. Yet Sandor was irritated, for fear _he_ might smell of the incense and oils and fresh flowers she would bring in. He was contempt in his leather and iron and mead and the sourness of musk and sweat he let himself marinate in for days on end if Ashara wouldn't force him to wash himself.  
When he entered the room, he found her lying on his, no, apparently _their_ bed now, reading a book. A curious sight in and of itself, a whore that knew her letters. He hoped she would ignore him as he quietly leaned his sword against the wall, and went straight to the table to sit and pour himself all the wine he could drink in a single night.  
Unfortunately for him, once she had finished the chapter, she rose and walked over to him, seating herself onto the table in front of him. “Get off the table”, he rasped at her as he drank a large gulp of the sour red. Not only did she stay put, but she took the cup from him and gave it a sniff.  
“Tha's too strong for you, it ain't one of those sweet ones they make for the ladies”, he grumbled as he tried to snatch the cup out of her hands again. But then he watched her try some of the wine without her flinching and rolled his eyes.  
“It's not the strength that is off, it's just the taste. It doesn't taste good. You should try the ones they make in Highgarden”, she let him know.  
He scoffed at that. “Then run back to Highgarden if i's so much better there.”  
“I've never been”, she said as she gave him back his cup, “but I should love to visit. Everything they make there is just so.. pretty. And delicate. I had always loved to peruse the markets, just a five minute walk from the brothel I stayed at.”  
Sandor knew what she was about to ask.  
“Please, my lord, let us go down there on the morrow. If you're so afraid of letting me go alone, come along with me”, she pleaded with him as he emptied his cup.  
He sat it down next to her on the table with a _thud_. “No. And don't call me _your lord_, for fuck's sake.” Just as she was about to protest, he started once more, “You're a whore, not a lady that I need to leave the house with. What d'you want, to be shown around like some prize? Find your next customer on the market square? I'm not parading you 'round outside the Keep's gates, I told you it's too dangerous.” She opened her mouth once more, but he interrupted her, “And yes, even with me there to look over you. Don't need none of the other dumb cunts here to know you exist and where to find you!”  
Ashara started to smile again. It was sweet to see him worry about her. She knew he was more capable of compassion than he let on behind his mask of brooding anger.  
As if he had read _her_ mind, he added, “Besides, I can't be bothered to follow another stupid girl to do some stupid girly shit like gush over some silks and pretty stones and whatever other crap.”  
Ashara slid down from the table and onto one of his strong, broad thighs. She steadied herself on one of his shoulders and touched the unburnt side of his neck. “There has been another 'stupid girl' occupying your mind lately, hasn't there?”  
Sansa. He did not want to talk about Sansa, much less with a whore.  
Ashara understood without a word and gave a light kiss onto his burnt cheek. He flinched, not out of pain but out of surprise. “You do everything you can for her. Everything that is in your power. I'm sure she sees it, as do I.” And she left it at that.  
She released her grip on him and got up to help him out of his armour. He did not look at her. After they were done, Ashara left the room.  
Sandor sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. _Damn her_, he thought. Why did she refuse to understand? He knew the other members of the Kingsguard couldn't shut up about “the Hound's new toy”, and he had caught a couple of regular guards staring at her tits whenever she left his chambers to fetch something from the servant girls or when he allowed her to visit the Keep's Godswood for once to pick certain flowers. As afraid as they were of him, he knew that half of them would love to defile the Hound's gift from the king, especially if she did not know their names to tell on them. He hated her still, but he did not want her to get hurt.  
Ashara returned with a heavy bucket of steaming hot water. Sandor quickly rose to take it from the tiny woman and set it on the table. “What, I need another bath? We just did this the day before yesterday..”, he asked, softer than he had intended.  
She nodded as she soaked a small towel. “It's not my fault it takes you less than half a day to build up that reek on your skin. I know you can't do anything about the armour, but you could at least swap some cups of wine for water. And perhaps eat some fresh fruit and vegetables among your meat”, she explained. She was right, he did smell bad most of the time. It was mostly the steel and leather making him sweat, so he had gotten used to it over the years. Yet he understood it was a different thing for her, not only having to live with him, but to touch him in more ways than one. He took off his tunic in compliance, poured himself another cup of wine and drank most of it as he watched her wring out the towel. At least he knew that he would be getting one of her hard back massages afterwards as a reward for letting her clean him.  
What he did not expect though, was the fact that she sat back down on his thigh with her typical soft smile, and started to gently scrub at his bare chest while on top of him. He cleared his throat and tried not to look at her, but kept failing. Luckily, she was not looking at his face and only concentrating on her task at hand.  
It was then that he let himself notice how the sheer, spring green silk of her dress accentuated the brown in her big, round eyes and he was certain he'd sometimes even see specks of gold glitter in her irises. The dresses she wore almost always hugged her breasts tightly within their thin fabric, her shoulders often exposed and her skirts flowing loosely below her waist.  
She shifted in his lap whenever she turned back to the table to clean out the cloth and Sandor swore that the fact that she let her knee graze over his manhood _every. single. time._ could not have been a coincidence. He soon felt himself harden and caught himself staring down at her tits, but he would not grant her that satisfaction. And so he willed himself to look away and stare at the wall across from where they were sitting. He tried not to tense up as he still wanted to enjoy how her small hands were roaming across his torso to clean it, lifting his massive arms to scrub underneath them, rubbing at his sore muscles while she did so. The younger Clegane could not resist releasing a deep sigh when she reached the back of his neck and he could feel her touch, along with the hot water on the towel, melt away the pain that the heavy white cloak of the Kingsguard caused him when it weighed down the lined steel of his armour that sat on his shoulders. Ashara smiled up at him sweetly, and he turned his face away from her as he felt the tops of his cheeks redden.  
Ashara finally stood up from his thigh and Sandor let out a silent curse to the gods. After soaking and wringing out the towel one last time, she went behind him, making him lean forward in his chair to rub his back in firm circles. The Hound closed his eyes and for once let himself relax against her touch. He hoped she wasn't reading him at that moment, because his own thoughts would have betrayed him and let her know how good her actions made him feel.  
Sandor felt himself almost fall asleep right there as he was leaning onto the table after she had been massaging him for a while. He jerked up when the woman let the towel fall into the bucket and some of the water splashed onto his face. “I think you should take off those breeches of yours”, she mused.  
Sandor rubbed his eyes with one hand and grunted. “I'll do the rest myself in the morning, it's gotten too late now.” He always insisted on washing his nether regions and legs on his own, he wouldn't let her treat him like some old man, too senile to take care of himself.  
“That is not what I am concerned about”, she replied. Sandor looked down on himself and saw his erection tenting his leathers. _Not this again._ “I's fine”, he mumbled, “leave it.”  
And with that, she was back on his damn lap again, hands on his shoulders and lowering her gaze. He quickly hooked one of his large fingers under her chin and pulled her head up to look at him. “No more o' that. I'm going to sleep”, he hissed. She gripped him tighter.  
“Why are you so afraid of me? Of me and your desires?”, she inquired.  
Sandor looked into her eyes, taken aback as confusion spread on his face.  
“You know what you want as well as I do”, Ashara continued, “Just let go. You are not bound to me. I'm 'just a whore', to put it in your own words.”  
“Aye, and I 'been trying to avoid your kind for a while now”, Clegane sneered, “I don't need you, any of you.”  
“No one speaks of a need. A desire is a want first, it only becomes a need when we cannot continue to live without it”, the woman argued.  
“Spare me this horse shit”, Sandor spat, anger returning to his gaze now as his stormy grey tried to battle her golden brown once more, “I don't _want_ you either.”  
“No”, Ashara said quietly, “You don't want me. At least not as it is. You want _me_ to want _you_.”  
Sandor's cheekbones reddened once more as embarrassment mingled with his rage.  
Small womanly hands made to slowly open the ties of his breeches, agonizingly so. “What if I were to tell you then, Sandor Clegane, that I have been looking for a man like yourself for quite some time now? The only men that were ever able to afford my services back at the brothel were all but lowly southron lords of old age, boring wastes of skin with no war accomplishments of their own. Old money hoarded by siding and complying with the winning side each time, never having visited a battlefield themselves”, she had finally succeeded in freeing his manhood, yet he was still focusing on her eyes, “But you.. you're not like them. You're a _true_ warrior. _You_ are what the ladies at court and in whorehouses alike should desire. Fearless and strong and loyal. A pity they cannot see past the scars and the gruesome mask you hide behind, as I can”, she took him in hand at last, but he still couldn't let go of those eyes, “Alas, there is _one_ thing that you fear, beside your brother”, she said as she knelt on the ground between his thighs again and he saw the golden flecks once more, “Rejection. But you mustn't fear it from me. I don't reject true warriors. I devour them.”  
With that, she lowered her head to put the thick head of the dick she had been stroking into her small mouth, taking as much of it in at once as she could, which, considering the sheer size of it, was less than half, and then coated it with her saliva first before retreating and starting to suck at the tip firmly.  
Sandor's breath came out rugged, but a sarcastic laugh started to form deep in his chest. “You make a better mummer than most of the wenches I've paid to stick my cock in, I'll give you that. Would you like that, for me to toss you to some raggedy travelling mummer's group, get rid of you? Stop making a mockery of me, woman.”  
“I'm neither a liar nor a mummer..”, she started, one hand gripping and stroking up and down his dick while she cupped one of his balls in the other, the both of them too large for her to grasp in just one palm.  
“Aye, no, you ain't a liar, just telling me what I 'desire' to hear, I get it”, Clegane recited while trying to steady his breathing, “Which makes you what? A _liar._”  
“Why is it so hard for you to believe that I would want a real man's dick inside of me for once, instead of jerking off some pitiful old man that could be my great-grandfather?”, Ashara snapped.  
Sandor watched her wonderingly as she took him back into her mouth to suck on all of the flesh she could fit at once, while massaging each of his balls in her hands. He bit his tongue to stifle a moan when she pressed her thumbs particularly deep into the tender sacks. She had figured that one out real quick, he noted.  
The Hound let himself enjoy his concubine's mouth for a bit longer as he leaned back to watch her, her long curls cascading down her back and sides and slowly falling to the front of her face. He pushed the strands away carefully and let his bear's paw of a hand rest at the back of her neck, still holding her hair back so he could see the warmth of her eyes.  
After a few moments, he spoke, “So you're saying you'd want my cock even if you weren't paid to be up here, 's that it?” Ashara looked up at him, and he could see her eyes glinting playfully, but she didn't answer him, now moving her head up and down his manhood.  
Sandor grunted and with one swift motion, grabbed her by the arm and dragged her up into his lap, the smaller woman scrambling to rise to her feet and situate herself on his thighs without sliding of. His other hand caught her hip and held her there. “Answer me!”  
“There is no way for me to answer, seeing as I haven't tried the cock in question”, she said carefully, a smirk starting to spread on her face.  
Only then did the Hound notice what his dick had found. Underneath the silks of her dress, his manhood was prodding at the whore's warm core. His eyes widened at the realisation.  
They looked at each other for a while. Her with her cunning grin, him with a nervosity he had not felt since he had been a green boy. Dark grey gazing into golden brown. Water into fire. Winter into summer. Almost. _Soot and honey_.  
Ashara held his stare as she reached behind her, to her right, and lifted a small bowl made of stone from the windowsill and onto the table. Sandor broke eye-contact for a moment to look at the contents of the mortar. A mostly clear gel with a slight green sheen to it.  
He looked back at her. Even with her sitting on top of him he did not have to lift his head to meet her eyes, so small she was. “Wha's 'at?”, his voice growing raspier by the second.  
She lay a hand on his chest and played with the coarse, black hair that grew there. “A balm, of similar composure to moon tea. To keep you from fathering any bastards. So long as you.. anoint.. me with it whenever you want your other _sword_ sheathed.”  
“I'm no priest”, he scoffed, “Now you're into alchemy too, aye?”  
Ashara laughed at that and guided the Hound's one hand that wasn't digging into her hip into the ointment. “This is no sacred ritual, Clegane. At least none to appease your own gods.” She lifted her skirts and beckoned his hand underneath, then pushed it towards her waiting folds.  
“There are no gods”, the brute muttered as he gingerly brought two of his fingers to her core and was surprised to be greeted by soaking wetness instead of any smallclothes he assumed she might be wearing. He gave the noise of a sharp inhale and nervously let the tips of his fingers graze over the woman's skin, when she snickered at his unease and lightly took his wrist to help him to her entrance. Sandor carefully stroked at the hole he had secretly been curious about more and more as time passed. It had been a few years since he had last been with someone, but even then he hadn't been familiar with how exactly to touch a woman besides sticking his dick in her, since whorehouses weren't really meant to teach a man how to pleasure a woman.  
He looked at her bashfully and was just about to end it then and there out of embarrassment when she heard him and went to push one of his long fingers inside of herself. The small hiss that that elicited from her encouraged Sandor to slowly press it deeper inside when she let her hand fall away from his and held onto both of his shoulders.  
The Hound looked at his courtesan's face for any signs, as he pulled his finger out of her and started a slow rhythm of pushing it in and out. Ashara smiled and rewarded him with a small sigh for every time he filled her again, restoring the man's confidence piece by piece. Sandor then brought a second finger inside her, coating her with the rest of the salve.  
Ashara let him pleasure her further as her sighs became moans and she cupped both of his cheeks in her palms. Sandor kept studying her face with wide eyes, when suddenly, the woman came closer and her lips lightly touched the right corner of his mouth. His breath hitched for a moment, just as she gave him another kiss, this time covering more of his mouth. The brute tried to find her eyes again, but she was staring at his lips while he was picking up the pace of his fingers. When she went to move back to pecking the corner of his mouth, Sandor met her halfway and let their lips meet fully. He shivered at the sensation and could feel Ashara smile against his mouth as she released her hand from the unburnt side of his face and buried it in the man's long, dark hair.  
A thousand thoughts raced through Sandor's mind as he tried to concentrate on the way his fingers moved inside of the girl on his lap, while also enjoying her pulling lightly on his hair, her breasts pushed against his naked chest and the utterly incomprehensible thing their mouths were doing to each other. Whores didn't kiss. At least none of the ones he had ever been with.  
Sandor almost wanted to curse when Ashara let their lips part. He had never been kissed before, but he could already tell that in some odd way, it felt much more intimate than touching the more private parts of a woman.  
Ashara's gaze had grown heavy-lidded when she grasped his forearm to carefully push his hand away from her. “You know what to do next”, she husked.  
Sandor let go of her hip when he realised how hard his grip had been on her. Maybe hard enough to leave a light bruise, he hoped. He let it slide to the small of her back and took himself in hand with the other one. Both his first kiss and the way the small woman had been writhing on his legs kept him rock hard even when he wasn't being touched. Now he was gently stroking her folds with the tip of his dick and it was finally his time to smirk when he could see the impatience on the courtesan's face. If he hadn't been so tired, he might have waited to see what she would have done to him if he teased her any longer, but he decided to go on with it and place his manhood directly beneath her opening, impaling her on it by pushing her down by her waist.  
Ashara gasped as his large member entered her, since even though he accessed her slowly, the width of him was stretching her out in dimensions she hadn't been accustomed to. In fact, she was very certain that he was the biggest man she had ever had.  
Clegane gritted his teeth as he sheathed himself fully. She was just as tight as he had feared based on the size of her body. He would not last long, not when it had been so long since he had last fucked anything but his own hand, and not when she was so wet, and warm, and tight and her eyes were on him again, hazy and expectant. Sandor held each side of her hips and slowly lifted her up before forcing her back down with just the strength of his wrists carrying her entire weight.  
Sandor watched as the woman began to slip off the shoulder cuffs of her dress, letting the silk fall down to her waist and revealing her perky breasts to him. He stared from one to the other as he kept moving her up and down his cock before lowering his head and taking one stiff nipple into his mouth, sucking at it vigorously. The man soon grew tired of her bouncing complicating his new pursuit and instead held her in place with one hand on her waist and her shoulder each, pinning her in place while he started to snap his hips up and into her from underneath, earning him a scream every time he hit her cervix. He chuckled around the tit in his mouth and moved on to latch onto the other when she sent him barking by burying her sharp nails into his shoulders, drawing blood if the searing pain he felt was any indication.  
Sandor looked up at her to give her a chastising look, but felt something inside him crumble when he saw how beautifully unhinged the woman in his lap looked, no, how he _made_ her look. Blinded by pride for just a moment, it then hit him that she was still a whore and most likely just acted like she enjoyed it because she felt that he desired it so.  
Whether by coincidence or knowledge of his doubts, Ashara went back to kissing his open mouth, moaning into it with every one of his thrusts and that shut his intrusive thoughts up again as he slammed into her harder and harder. With her sweet lips on his chapped and as he thought undeserving ones, her hands coming up onto his neck and leaving red scratches in their path, her pussy dripping down his shaft and the overbearing tightness of her, it did not take him much longer to release. And when he did release, his pace becoming just as erratic as his breathing, he pulsed thick white streaks of his seed into her warmth, biting down hard on her lower lip to stifle an uncharacteristically loud moan, eliciting another one of her delightful screams. Sandor learned then that he did not care for moans, he wanted her to scream bloody murder into his ears.  
The older man shuddered as he came down from his ecstasy and slumped forward with his face bent down and buried into the woman's chest as he wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her in place.  
Ashara calmed her own breathing while patting Sandor's back with one hand, and stroking his head with the other. She felt him slowly fade into sleep again, and so quickly stepped off of him, cleaned up the most of their fluids off of his lap and helped him into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this somewhat longer chapter and the first real smut in this fic lol.  
The last two chapters were very Hound focused, but the next few will be exploring Ashara's feelings and personality as well!


	6. 5: Human Behaviour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided to already add the next chapter since it's quite a short one!

An entire moon had passed since Ashara had first met the Hound. As she leaned on the balustrade, looking down on the inner courtyard that the Kingsguard used as training grounds, she watched her suitor defeat all of his fellow sworn in men in single combat. He was truly the strongest, not only due to his size advantage, but also through his coldness that played into both his brutality and technique.  
When at some point Ser Meryn Trant spotted her and shouted over something to Sandor that she could only assume was as vile and derogatory as everything else that the man ever spewed, the younger Clegane looked up to where she was standing. Even from such a high distance, she could see the anger form in his eyes and left.  
Tired of being confined to one room only, she sneaked off to another balcony not too far from the Hound's chambers in the White Sword Tower that overlooked Blackwater Bay. There at last, as she was gazing into the calm waters below, Ashara was able to enjoy the sun, and the wind, and the seagulls flying overhead without the older man chastising her. A deep sigh left her throat as she was left alone with her thoughts once more. And lately, whenever she did let her mind stray, she always found herself thinking back to her and Sandor's first time together a few days prior.  
Back to how she had had to heave him into bed and how he had fallen asleep right after. Such a large man and yet he lost all of his strength as soon as he had come inside of her. He hadn't made _her_ come, but which man ever did? Ashara was surprised to catch herself thinking about it at all, but even more so, being upset by it, as if she wasn't used to it as her profession's default. Yet something about the Hound was different, though she did not understand it. It wasn't just plain fear of rejection she had seen in him, it was more than that. At first she thought that it had been simple insecurities due to the way he had been treated by women before that led him to refuse to lay with her, in fear of sleeping with another woman that was disgusted by him, but his experiences had changed him and his desires further. The younger Clegane yearned to be wanted, and by extension, sought to satisfy the other's wants.  
As Ashara tried to make sense of the connection between those two factors, she had to admit to herself that while she did not get the opportunity to finish, he _did_ somewhat fulfil his aspiration in that he made her feel better than most men that had hired her previously. Everything about Sandor was so large, that she could not help but feel aroused when she thought about it. He had more than a foot and a half on her, which gave her mixed feelings of protection should she need it, but also of being completely at his mercy should he decide to do with her body as he pleased. In the beginning, she had secretly feared him because of it, but as she got used to moving around his body, she realised that she became attracted to the way he menacingly dwarfed her.  
The Hound's enormous hands made her feel like a porcelain doll when he gripped her, and as if that wasn't enough, his fingers, as inexperienced as they were, were both long and thick and filled her out more than simple fingers should. They felt rough on her skin, deliciously so, and she was sure he would soon learn how to use them correctly if he so desired to know.  
Worst and best of all, surely to lead her to her mental demise, remained his manhood. Onwards from when she had first laid her eyes upon him, she had assumed as much of his size, and then still had to hide how impressed she was when she had opened his breeches, not being able to close her fist around his girth, and much less succeeding at fully fitting him into her mouth. And so it came to be that she had been both anxious as well as embarrassingly impatient as she had waited for Sandor to be ready and willing to explore her more private entrance. She felt her cheeks blush as she thought about how he had stretched her out, the width of him ripping her apart as his height ruined her womb when he crashed against its wall over and over again.  
A slightly colder breeze came in from the sea, so Ashara took the sign to collect herself and continue down the walkway, in an attempt to distract herself from the throbbing between her legs. It had been a long time since she had last lain with a man she hadn't required to fake her pleasure for, and her body was letting her know that it yearned for more. Perhaps she would get that with Sandor.  
As she crossed the courtyard the Kingsguard had been training in not too long ago, she worried her lip over a different issue. Clegane had given her the drawbridge between the outer and inner courtyards of the Red Keep as a border for her to roam, which meant that she could not even try to seek out Lord Baelish, with whom she still had not had the opportunity to talk about Varys' requests, in the Council Chambers, which were located in the outer courtyard. And then in addition to that, the Hound had refused her wish of visiting the market. Her plan had been to slip away from him for just a moment, to sneak of to Baelish's brothel and leave a message with the hostess or talk to Petyr directly should he be present. She did not understand his qualms about the supposed dangers, for all that had access to the inner parts of the Keep already knew they would find her in Clegane's chambers, which were now easy to locate in the tower designated for the Kingsguard. What was more likely the cause of Sandor's fears didn't root in any true dangers, but rather in his own personal feelings about his new room mate. Ashara was very certain that she had felt the first buds of possessiveness settle in the warrior's mind. Strangely enough, she found it endearing that a man that originally rejected her so vehemently and even feared her, was beginning to care about her, and was so adamant on keeping her safe. Like a dog guarding his territory.


	7. 6: Foreverdark Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried something different with the layout of the paragraphs, I hope this makes the text more readable! Soz, I'm new here lol.
> 
> First time we get more of a glimpse/ an explanation of Ashara's magic! More to come in a couple chapters!

“For FUCK'S sake!”

“Sandor..?”, Ashara mumbled, having been jolted awake suddenly. Several loud thuds that shook the bed followed the Hound's shout. ”..what on earth are you doing to the bed frame?”

“Bloody hells.. go back to sleep, woman”, the older man growled. 

Ashara sighed. She sat up in bed, rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and let her vision adjust to the darkness. “Where are you..?”  
She heard Clegane mutter more incoherent curses under his breath as she started to discern the large man's shape, as he was sitting down on the edge of the bed, then proceeding to rub his right foot. Carefully, she crawled over to him and let her hands rest on his shoulders.

“Told you to go back to sleep, why don't you ever listen?!”, he barked at her upon contact.

Ashara frowned in the dark, let go of him and sat behind him, staring at his back angrily.

When Sandor didn't hear her lay back down again, he turned for a moment, trying to look at her. “Can't sleep.. So I went t' go out, get some air. Hit my toe on the fucking bed”, he started off calmly, then got louder again and ended his sentence by once again hitting the bed post with his bare fist.

His courtesan buried her face in her palms, wondering for a second about where she had gone wrong in her life to end up with this man, stealing her last shreds of sanity. Whenever she thought they had made progress, gotten more comfortable with each other, trusted each other more, Sandor would take a step back, yell at her and treat her like a burden. Lately, his insomnia had worsened, yet he refused to have any maester help him, give him any medicine, and so his constant lack of sleep provided an additional strain on his relation to the young woman. Just as Ashara had started to take a liking to the brute, he had to turn it all around. It had taken her a while to get used to him, and even more so to truly like him without having to put on as much of an act to seem sweet and pleasant. She didn't want his antics to ruin her finally not feeling all too terrible about her current life situation.

“Sorry.. for waking you again”, Ashara could not believe her ears when Sandor spoke meekly, as if he had heard her. She stared at his back again as he slicked his hair back with one hand, still drenched in cold sweat from the nightmare that woke him earlier, and placed his foot back onto the ground. “Rough couple of weeks”, he added.

“I know”, Ashara replied quietly. The woman chastised herself silently, for doubting the man's heart, for she had been feeling his supposed indifference to her discontent melt away over time. After a moment, she shuffled closer to him once more and warily placed a hand onto his back, gently stroking him. The large man let out a small puff and let his head hang low. At that, Ashara pulled herself together and started to slowly work at his back and shoulders, relieving his tense muscles. She knew he loved it when she did, but it wasn't enough to help him sleep and so lately, he would often swat her away when she tried. She could feel Sandor's own frustration at his state, but knew she had done everything in her powers. Ashara would make him feel as comfortable as she could, spoiling his skin with her hands, caressing his chest, kneading the tight muscles in his arms, entangling her fingers in his dark hair and massaging his scalp. When that wasn't enough anymore, she would kiss him in hopes of clouding his head, making him forget where he was for a few moments so he could drift to sleep, not thinking about all his worries. Unfortunately, it had gotten to the point where not even laying with him and letting him release inside of her would aid him sleep, as much as it had knocked him out the first few times. Ashara truly pitied him despite all the stress he had been putting her under. She did not like it and she knew it wasn't right, but she had to admit that she was starting to care for him aside from the possible pleasure she hoped to receive from him for a change. In her presence, the king's gruesome Hound was most often reduced to a troubled pup, barking at her once in a while to scare her off, but in moments such as these, it was hard to see Sandor during his lash-outs as anything more than a child venting his inner conflicts, never having learned how else to deal with them.

There was one thing that Ashara hadn't yet attempted on her suitor. She hadn't tried it on anyone in a long time, since there was neither a need nor anyone worthy enough for her to strain herself in such a way. Yet somehow, despite all her annoyances with Sandor's attitude as of late, she felt compelled to at least give some of the higher powers she was once taught a go, for both his sake and her own, should she want to have a quiet night's sleep while residing in the Red Keep ever again.  
Ashara let her hands fall to Sandor's sides and gently pulled him back into bed. “You should lie back down.”

“No point in lying down when I can't sleep”, Sandor grumbled. The young woman kept pulling on him though, and so he reluctantly obeyed. He only started to get irritated again when she climbed on top of him, sitting herself just above his hips. “I'm not in the fucking mood, shouldn't you know that?!”

Ashara made no effort to change her position when she told him, “I do know. Let me try something.” She leaned forward on top of his chest, with her hands resting on his collarbones. 

Sandor frowned, “Then get off, I don't have any spare nerves for any of your bloody games right now. Won't sleep any better with your ass pressing on my damn bladder..”

Ashara ignored him and instead closed her eyes, concentrating on her task. When Sandor realised she was only reading him again, he begrudgingly shut up and rolled his eyes. He couldn't see her face in the dark and so just lay there, indifferent to the woman.  
As she was foresting through the older man's thoughts, Ashara searched for something new. But as with every other night she had tried to figure out what it was that kept Sandor up, she couldn't find anything that stood out to her. The constant mockery he had to endure from Joffrey while following him around, now worsened ever since he had become king, the other members of the Kingsguard laughing at him behind his back, especially now that he of all people was living with a whore, the most hilarious thing to them as they imagined the wench being abused, his own feelings towards women, now complicated by Ashara's existence in his life, and then the worry he felt for Sansa, seeing his younger self in her, both hurt and used by their environments. All those issues and memories materialised as an endless maze of trees, with a shallow river flowing between them, serving as a braided path for her to follow through the man's thoughts. But amongst it all, there was a shadow that Ashara could not place. She had noticed it the very first time she had read Sandor. It had made her flinch, but she brushed it aside as she didn't know what to make of it. It loomed over Sandor's mind, like a blanket draped over a person's body, but with their head tucked underneath, slowly suffocating them. Like a blanket of snow hindering anything from growing past above it. Its presence snuck into every crevice of the old dog's head, laying heavy on the issues that occupied him daily, and still burdening him any other second that he tried not to think about anything. Such as when he went to sleep.

Ashara accepted then that the shadow was what she needed to rid Sandor off. It would not suffice to resolve his issues when the mind itself was encompassed by darkness. He would just find other things to be tormented by.

As she calmed her breathing, Ashara thought a silent prayer, pressing her hands deeper into Sandor's skin. She tapped into his mind, not merely reading it but entering it, something she had not done to anyone in a long time. She stepped into his woods, dark and boreal, trees either adorned with needles or barren of leaves as they typically would be in winter, letting herself get engulfed by the gloomy shadow. She had to tear it away from him, but as she waded through the obscure waters of the younger Clegane's mind, she understood that she did not know how. There was no way for her to free him. She tried to turn around when she felt the water rising slowly from her toes to her ankles, but she could no longer see where to go. Panic started to rise in her when she realised she had lost the door, hidden by darkness. She had to release him then and there, somehow. Taking the last bits of courage she had left, before the shadow could chip it away, she reached out to touch it, to pull it out with her.

Sandor jumped up when Ashara started to scream uncontrollably, corrupting the silence of the night with a screech that made his blood curdle. Not knowing what to do, he first held her small body to him, keeping her from falling backwards when he had sat up and she had slid into his lap. When she wouldn't stop shrieking and he felt his eardrums burst, Sandor looked down at her hands and tried to pry them away from him, huffing as her nails left angry red streaks where she had buried them into his skin. The screaming stopped when Sandor finally succeeded in ripping her palms away from him, holding both of her wrists in his much stronger fists. 

Ashara finally opened her eyes, barely recognising the glinting of Sandor's eyes in the moonlight. They stared at each other as much as the darkness would allow it, when Ashara finally slumped against his chest and started sobbing, though much quieter than before. Sandor didn't know what to do with himself, didn't know what to say or ask, so just hugged her to his chest and laid back down.

Ashara cried as she hid her face in his chest hair, making herself small against his body. She had known suffering all her life, but the piercing cold that entered her body when she tried to take hold of Sandor's shadow elicited a pain in her that she had only imagined from scorching hot fires. The overwhelming sense of doom she had let into her own mind shocked her with its bleakness, the feeling of utter nothingness that hurt more than any strike across the face, any slur, any heartbreak that came with young love. Ashara thought she would rather take a hundred lashes from a flaming whip if it meant she never had to touch the _deadness_ of Sandor's cold ever again.

What fueled her terror though was that as she came down from it, she realised that she was not as unfamiliar with her suitor's shadow as her first instincts led her to believe. The shadow had woken something inside of her, something she feared might be equally as cold. Something she feared might snuff out her flame.


	8. 7: Halfway To Nowhere

Ashara opened the door to the kitchens, and was not only greeted by the familiar scents of roasted meats and freshly baked apple pies, but also by a face she had not encountered before, yet she knew precisely whom it belonged to. She was just about to slink back out, thinking her entrance had gone unnoticed, when she was proven wrong.

“Lady Ashara, the wine you had ordered three weeks ago has come in. Shall I have it brought up to your chambers?”, she heard a voice as she reluctantly turned back around. It was one of the kitchen maids, particularly the one she had tasked to buy more barrels of the sour red that Sandor preferred.

“Yes, that would be best, Ayla. I will await the servants back in-”, she tried to respond quietly, when she was interrupted. She had felt him staring at her as soon as the stupid girl had addressed her, and tried to ignore him and leave as quickly as possible, but he was too curious it seemed.

“'Lady'? That girl does not seem like a lady to me, child. At least not like the type of lady you speak of”, the man said playfully, pointing to the deep neckline of her sheer lilac dress. One of the cooks chuckled at the reference. She had not expected his voice to be so deep and.. attractive. Strangely enough, she had never had the pleasure of meeting him back in her time at the brothel, even though it was widely known how often he frequented it. Baelish had made sure he would never see her, steal her away from him.

Ashara bowed to him, not knowing how to respond to his quips. “My Lord, I-”, she started, but was disrupted yet again.

“Forgive me, my dear, I was just teasing. I certainly appreciate _your_ kind of lady, though I do have to admit a certain surprise as to how a courtesan like yourself has ended up being acquainted with the royal kitchen folk? Much less giving up orders?”, Tyrion Lannister mused as he bit into an apple, “So whose chambers are you staying in and whom do I have to purchase you from?”

Ashara smiled at her feet and rose again. “My Lord, you honour me. Yet I must inform you that I am in Sandor Clegane's services until His Highness King Joffrey decides otherwise, for I am the Hound's gift for his new office as Kingsguard.”

Tyrion stared at her, brows raised and mouth agape for just a moment. “Clegane?! My dear lady of night, I would gladly be so selfless as to raise your or your master's compensation, or smack some sense into my nephew, should you need me to rescue you from such a brute! You would be most welcome to live in my own spacious apartments, only to regain your strengths of course..”

Ashara laughed at his wit and sarcasm. “My lord, you are most kind, but I do not require any rescuing. Sandor treats me well enough.”

Tyrion snorted at that and bit into his apple once more, thinking. “A whore for a member of the Kingsguard. Did no one tell my wise nephew that his own personal guards vowed to lay off their earthly desires?” 

The kitchen workers cleared their throats to stifle any laughs that might offend the non-attendant king. 

“Clegane, too. Out of all of them. They're all horrible, but him? What an ill-suited fate for such a striking specimen of a concubine”, Lannister continued, “How is he? Are his interests as odd as I assume they are? Like, does he get off on swinging his war hammer at you, or how does one bed the king's feared bloodhound?”

The kitchen folk laughed freely now as Ashara reddened once again. “I-”

“No, do not tell me, I understand”, another crunch of his teeth into the apple, “but does he pleasure you? Because _I_ definitely pleasure all of my whores. I'm sure you've heard of the tales. You should think on it.”

“My lord-”, she begged.

“Be honest, do you think Clegane is a greater man in bed than I would be?”, he demanded nonchalantly. She could only stare at him, speechless, with a smile playing on her perplexed face. Tyrion watched her a while longer while finishing his apple. He chucked its core onto a heap of other cooking waste. “Did you not come here for a purpose? No need to be nervous with me present, please, resume your business lest Clegane finds that you've been gone for too long. He might behead the both of us.”

Ashara smiled fully now as she requested a fruit and cheese platter to be brought to her chambers, as well as the wine that the maid had mentioned earlier. She liked Tyrion Lannister, she decided then. And it was easy to imagine as to why he was so popular with her fellow whores. 

As she lingered to discuss the specifics of her order with the kitchen maid, hoping that Tyrion would stay to converse with her some more, he instead got up with a sigh. “Well, my lady, as I do cling to life as much as any of you, I must unfortunately admit to surrender in that I will not be stealing you from the Hound. Should you change your mind, I would gladly scheme with you to figure out a way to release you from Clegane without him knowing whose head to hunt after”, he said at last, giving her a short bow and a wink, before turning around to leave.

Suddenly emboldened, Ashara decided to risk her luck then and there, just before it would be too late. “My lord”, she tried, “there actually would be one thing you could help me with, if it would not be too much to ask of you..”

Tyrion stopped in his tracks and turned back around, smirking. “And what would that be, my lady?”

Only then, when a bucket of turnips loudly hit the floor, did Ashara notice a brown-haired woman she had not encountered during any of her kitchen visits before. Her face looked hard and angry, her mouth clenched in a tight line, but when the whore had spoken up to make her request of Lord Tyrion, the facade completely crumbled and Ashara could feel the fury radiating from the supposed kitchen wench. The Lannister stared at her in warning.

Ashara built up all her courage and bid him, “A bird, my lord.”

“A.. bird? Like a pet, my lady?”, the man frowned as he turned back to her.

“No, my lord”, she smiled awkwardly, “A raven, I meant. I need to send a message to my master, you see, but Sandor will not let me leave the Keep.”

“So you know your letters, is that right?”, Tyrion asked suspiciously. 

“I do, my lord”, she replied. Maybe it had been a mistake to ask him.

“And who is your master then, child?”, his frown growing deeper.

Ashara stalled. What was she to tell him? She had not thought that far, Tyrion's charms having gotten the best of her. “F-forgive me, my lord.. I should not tell, and I should not have asked. Forgive a stupid girl for asking such a favour..”

Tyrion regarded her for a moment longer before speaking up again. “I think I already know, my dear. Forgive _me_, for I do not wish to insert myself into such affairs”, he went to leave again, but turned to her one last time, “Good luck and strength to you though, my lady.”

And with that, he was gone. Ashara had never felt so foolish in her entire life. The kitchen staff grew quiet around her and she left out the other door when she could no longer stand the air of embarrassment that surrounded her. Baelish would end her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set right at the beginning of season 2, when Tyrion just arrived back in King's Landing. I think it was in episode 2 that Varys mentioned Shae working in the kitchens first before becoming Sansa's handmaiden. This early on I'd like to believe that Tyrion would definitely do something like this, talk to another prostitute in such a way, to kind of keep up pretenses to protect Shae, even though I believe he's super loyal and Shae has nothing to worry about. This will definitely become relevant again in a few chapters.


	9. 8: Saturnine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, at last, a new chapter! I'm so incredibly sorry for making you all wait so long for a fic update when I said in the preface (which I'm updating asap) that that was exactly what I wanted to avoid. I'm not about to serve you a boring sob story about why I wasn't able to update sooner, but please trust me that this wasn't out of laziness or disinterest, I just have a lot going on + this chapter was incredibly hard to write, but I absolutely had to get it right. I really hope you enjoy this slightly longer chapter and the darker direction the story will progress into; after all, this is still Game of Thrones.  
In this chapter I put down some groundwork for us to figure out a bit more about Ashara's background and her magic, though it's really about Sandor finally laying some of his cards out. Not long till all is out in the open and we can progress significantly!  
TW for violent Sandor and further mentions of abuse

Ashara was growing desperate. It did not seem like Lord Baelish to abandon her in such a manner. Especially not after the promises he had made to her on the day that the boy king had taken her away from him. When he had been holding her in his arm, his hand resting on her naked shoulder, she knew he was speaking to her in their own way, shielded from the king's ears. 

The sorceress did her best to listen to him, to the man that had been her master for however many years, while keeping her hands neatly at her sides, unable to grasp his skin without their onlookers noticing. Their bond was the strongest she had had to anyone in years, ever since she had been bought from her previous mentors. And despite the pain he would inflict on her, she missed him, if only for his familiarity. 

Gaining access to Sandor Clegane's mind had been arduous, exacerbated by his ever-present strange shadow, and not enough time had passed for her to meaningfully strengthen their bond. Without anyone for her to indulge in a shared spiritual connection with, her powers would weaken. It was just like when Baelish first brought her to Westeros. Every time she had to form a new bond, she felt like a child that had to learn how to walk for the first time all over again. Except this time, she would be forced to make her own choice. Baelish would not want her to discard their bond to form one with Sandor, he would be furious, but if she did not get to reconnect with Petyr soon, it would be her only chance in preventing her magic from leaving her. 

With Sandor away during the day, she was free to vent her inner emotional conflict out of his sight. She would sit on the windowsill of their shared chambers, tears streaming down her face as she felt her powers fade, remembering Petyr's unspoken words. _Don't be afraid. His threats mean nothing. I will not have you harmed, or abandoned. Just trust in me. I will find a way._

Clearly, he had not found a way, but she could no longer wait for him to do so. She had to act.  
Whenever she left her chambers, she searched for anyone to relay any information to her that would explain Baelish's silence, but to no avail. The only people she would pass in the halls of the Red Keep that she was able to talk to or inconspicuously touch would be various kinds of maids that did not know anything about Littlefinger's business. She had even tried to get closer to the dark haired girl she had met in the kitchens shortly after Tyrion Lannister returned to the capitol. Only now, the girl, whose name she had learned to be Shae, was Sansa Stark's personal hand maiden. She seemed to have somewhat of a relation to Tyrion, and Ashara could feel how much the girl despised her still from their first encounter, which upset her, because there was something different about the woman she could relate to. A possible friend in her dire situation, but she was unwanted.

On top of her waning powers, Ashara was also still nervously anticipating a second visit by Lord Varys, as it was unlikely he had already given up on trying to convince her to assist him, given the importance of his requests. She still had to discuss the eunuch's motives with Petyr, too afraid to dare make her own assumptions and decisions without his approval. 

She had to write a letter. She would figure out how to deliver it to her master at a later time, but she could no longer idly wait by. _Petyr_, she addressed the letter, _Forgive my boldness, but I need to see you as soon as time allows. I bear urgent tidings that I am sure will be of great interest to you, but I can feel myself fading away. Please return to me, quickly. I need you._

-

Ashara awoke to strong arms lifting her off of the windowsill. Despite his size and the clanging metal of the golden Kingsguard armour he wore in turns with his own soot-grey one, Sandor could be eerily quiet when he wished to. She looked up at him through heavy eyelids when she remembered how she had fallen asleep. She heard Sandor say something which did not register as the memory of the letter she had written earlier came back to her, laying forgotten on the windowsill. _He must not see_. 

She scrambled out of his arms and to her feet, meaning to distract him, but it was already too late.

“What's all this? You writing letters now?”, Sandor inquired when he saw the scrolls of paper and the inkpot that did not belong to him scattered where his concubine had fallen asleep.

Time passed her by as if she was stuck in a dream; she was trying to grasp him by the arm, but to no avail. With his broad back to her and one of his outstretched arms in her way, Sandor picked up the scroll with his free hand and read it. 

“'Petyr' it is, aye?”, he rasped, less than enthused. 

“This isn't fair, Sandor, you don't kn-”, Ashara started, meaning to defend herself against whatever the older man would throw at her, but he immediately interrupted her.

“You weren't sent by Joffrey, were you?” It was more of an assertion than a question, his voice cold and sharp like icicles. “I was right all along, wasn't I? You're a fucking spy.”

All she could do was shake her head as tears started to well in her eyes once more. They stared at each other for a good moment, Sandor's hand making its way towards his dagger, hurt flashing in his eyes. With the tension between them thick enough to grasp and the brute looking like he would pounce on her at any moment like the dog he fashioned himself to be, Ashara weighed her words in an effort to calm him down. Just as she was about to speak, Clegane was on her, cupping a rough hand over her mouth and drawing his dagger with the other, bringing it up to the whore's throat.

“The fuck do you think you're doing, woman? Huh? Should've known you're one of Baelish's, aye? Some dirty whore sent to spy on me, like I'm the daft one here? Give me just one good reason I shouldn't be cutting your throat, like the worthless wench that you are. Was right from the beginning, wasn't I?!”

Ashara couldn't see him, could only feel his hot breath as he bent down to hiss his obscenities into her ear, his hand clamping down on her face, preventing her from casting any spells, and the cold steel of his blade pushing slightly into the delicate skin below her chin, but she could imagine what his face looked like, contorted the way it always was when wrath took over the pained man she had been convinced would never lay a hand on her.

In a bout of panic, suddenly unsure of what he was truly capable of, Ashara held onto Sandor's forearms and released all of her leftover strength. Shocked by the sudden scorching pain that went through his body, Sandor let go of his hostage and stumbled away from her. Still, Ashara took as many steps back and away from him as the size of their small chamber allowed, eyes never leaving him in fear of how he would retaliate. Once he realised what had happened, that it was her powers that hurt him, she saw surprise give way to livid fury once more. He looked like a rabid animal, dagger still in hand, uncertainty at the prospect of fighting a higher force he couldn't just cut down being the only hindrance keeping him from mauling the small woman to death. Instead, he bared his gritted teeth and slowly spoke through them, his earlier coldness replaced by seething heat on his skin. “You weren't sent by Joffrey. Tha's why he's never mentioned you once. Tha's not much like him. I was right, right from the beginning. You're a pathetic fucking liar.”

Ashara's heart was hammering in her chest as she carefully opened her mouth to speak, not wanting him to attack her once more, “Please, Sandor.. None of what you are thinking is true, you need to listen to me. I know you feel cheated, but I promise if you were to just listen to me, I would explain whatever you needed me to, but I need your word not to harm me. Please, my love, I will-”

“Your _love_?”, he spat on the floor in front of him right as he repeated the whore's phrasing, insulted and stricken with disbelief, “I told you not to fucking call me that, are you fucking mad, woman?! You're a fucking whore, you don't know what fucking love is!”

“You're rude”, Ashara cried in frustration, “So rude, I can-”

“Yes, and I'm plenty more than just rude”, he bellowed, “I can be a lot worse than fucking rude. What a stupid girl you are, haven't you seen that by now?! Haven't you had enough?!”

“You're just vile!”, she proclaimed, openly weeping at her helplessness.

“That all you got, girl?! Go on, you can tell me now, no need to pretend like you're a fucking lady now. Give it to me true, you got nothing to lose anymore, ruse is up. You're just proving I was right all along, like a pretty little fucking idiot.” 

“_Why_ do you hate me so? All you've done ever since I arrived is try to find a reason to rid yourself of me! You're doing this to yourself, I've never hurt you once!”, she cried.

“Because I fucking hate _myself_”, he retorted at last. His words surprised him more so than her, forcing him to take a moment to collect himself. In an effort to correct himself, pride and virility barring him from appearing weak in front of the young woman, he cleared his throat and continued, “Because I hate fucking everyone, everyone hates me, 'n' so should you! When's it finally going to get into your head?!”

Ashara stayed silent for a moment, letting him fester in his embarrassment, hoping to have reached a breaking point with the pained man. Shielding his vulnerability from her had been his utmost priority since he had first understood what his new companion was capable of, and if she could get him to grant her even the smallest access to his sensitivity, she hoped to appeal to it and make him finally listen to her. 

“If it had not been Joffrey who sent me, how do Trant and the others know?”, she eventually remarked in a quiet voice, attempting to reason with him. “How do they know so much when you haven't told them anything?”

Sandor was still staring at her, unsure of what to respond, fingers going white from how hard they were digging into the hilt of his dagger, steel and leather being the only comfort he had ever known.

“You were right in one thing. I am 'one of Baelish's'. But I'm not here to spy”, she watched as his nostrils flared up at the mention of her master's name, “Neither on you nor on anyone else.”

“Then what the fuck's so important you need to tell him? Need me to read you your own words?”, he barked back. 

“No.. I.. I'm in trouble and in need of his help”, the woman declared at last.

“Well, you're in even worse fucking trouble now, girl”, the cruel laughter that escaped him when he announced his threat sent shivers down Ashara's spine. She'd learnt how horrible men could be to women early on in life, but Sandor's unpredictably erratic temper was a new type of savagery she had always been kept away from, especially ever since she had been under Petyr's watch.

Sandor took a step closer to where the woman was standing, her back against the wall. She took a breath and spoke quickly. “Trant and Moore were there with King Joffrey when he chose me as your gift. Pet-.. Baelish tried to stop him, he did not want me to stay with you, but Joffrey would not relent to his suggestions. I was never supposed to be here. But that is how the rest of the Kingsguard know, they saw it all, heard it all. Baelish wouldn't have let them bear witness if this was all just a ploy to.. to what exactly, Sandor?”, she carefully shook her head, “You're just a _guard_.”

Silence once more as the older man stalled in front of her to assess his courtesan's declaration. Ashara saw the doubt in his eyes, he was starting to question himself. 

“Who sent that letter?”, he finally asked, noting the woman's confusion, “The one the eunuch brought?”, his tone doing nothing to hide his disgust. Still, the whore uncertainly shook her head, adding to Clegane's impatience. “I never fucking get any letters, soon as you're here, this all happens, I'm s'pposed to buy it? Don't act like you don't already know every thought tha's ever passed inside my head.”

“I don't know what this is about”, she asserted, “Perhaps if you told me what was in the letter, I could...”

“A threat should I hurt you. Something about my brother.”

Ashara looked down at her feet, closing her eyes.

“Should've known right then, aye? Baelish”, the older man let another sarcastic laugh snort out of his nose, with the woman's reaction having been enough to confirm his suspicions, “Who else in this damned city would have a witch as his secret little whore spy? Hm? Have whoever he needs to fuck you, men don't think when they fuck. Women do though, so you just get what you want from them, then tell little _Petyr_ like the pathetic rat that you are. I'm not a stupid cunt like them, though.”

Ashara still held her gaze cast towards the ground, tears ever fresh at the unexpected hurt his words were causing her. “No, you are right, you are no simple, stupid man. You are right in all your assumptions about me. About Petyr's use of me, why he brought me to Westeros. I.. assist him. It's not my business though, I just have to do as he asks.”

“Yeah, like his good little whore”, was his sardonic answer, “Poor you, like his is the only whorehouse in this shit-stain of a world. Why don't you run off home, or better, to your beloved fucking Highgarden, find another rich idiot to sell yourself to?”

“It doesn't work like that”, now it was Ashara's turn to grow impatient, “Not with Petyr, at least.”

“Tell me then, what would Littlefinger do to you if you didn't do your duties? What's he gonna do if you just fuck off back to Essos?”, Sandor teased.

“He has beat me a couple of times in the past, whenever I failed him”, she said it so matter of factly, that her words took him aback, his vileness having merely been a mean to spite her, his anger clouding any rational thought. She saw his upper lip twitch for a split second, as if her admission bothered him in a way. “If I fled, he would ensure that I would not get too far. I'm his after all.”

Sandor was staring at her, furrowing his one good brow. “You're a _slave_.”

“I _was_ a slave, before Petyr brought me here”, she attempted to correct him.

“You're still a slave. Just 'cause it's outlawed here don't mean tha's not what you are”, he said in a low voice, his anger with her subsiding due to his new discovery, leading him to loosen his grip on the weapon he was still clutching. Littlefinger was known to be the scheming shadow haunting the throne room, his desired ends always justifying the means, however deplorable they turned out to be. Smuggling a slave into Westeros to further his political interests should not seem alarming to him, had this slave not been forced into Sandor's own life by accident.

Sandor Clegane was not a politically invested person, he had never been interested in what happened to the world and people around him. Ever since he had realised that monsters such as his brother were able to get away with most anything, such as the deliberate murder of innocents, including those of their own family, as Sandor suspected, his distaste for the elites of the capitol grew, and any awareness of the inequalities they caused to their people soon faded into indifference. Both his code, established once his brother's perversion of knighthood hit enough of a nerve in him to make him despise the title as a whole, as well as a man's simple needs of keeping a roof over his head and coin in his pocket, were what kept him serving the Lannisters. 

All of those circumstances culminated into him being much less than enthused about possibly being drawn into those exact political intrigues he had been successfully staying away from. Part of him wanted to remain ignorant to whatever his courtesan had gotten herself into, but he could not stop himself from asking, “What do you need his help for, then?”

Ashara had visibly lost some of the tension that had kept her on her toes when the large man had been threatening her, and was now slumped against the wall. “Lord Varys did not only deliver your letter that day. He also relayed his wishes of wanting to engage me in his endeavours, but whatever those may be, they cannot be good. And they cannot be in Petyr's interest..” The concubine deliberately left out the nature of her waning powers, not wanting to expose her weaknesses to the man so soon, seeing as how volatile his disposition had been just minutes earlier.

“No need to worry 'bout him while you're here”, Sandor declared, “Long as you're in these chambers, he won't touch you. Shouldn't've lied to me though, back then.”

Ashara gave a quick nod. “But have you seen him? Petyr? I'm worried since he has not made an attempt to speak to me yet..”

Clegane shrugged his shoulders, and finally felt comfortable enough to let go of his control of the situation, sheathing his dagger and casting his gaze towards the window to think. “Not sure when I last saw him, don't pay much attention to that nonce, but he sure ain't dead yet, I'd know.” 

“But he is still at court, right?”, the woman pleaded. Sandor looked back to her, trying to decipher the reasons for her eagerness, but nodded after just a short moment. 

Relieved that Baelish seemed to continue his deeds as normal, but even more so unsettled by his silence knowing he was bustling about only a stone's throw from her quasi-prison in the White Sword Tower, Ashara kept prying. “You must let me meet him. This isn't like him-”

The bewilderment on Sandor's face made her stall before he could get himself to verbally interrupt her. “You're not going anywhere, woman. Thought you got that by now, you really think I'm gonna let you prance around the keep _now_? You're staying here, and if Littlefinger or the eunuch want something, they can come to you. Or to _me_, I should say.” 

And with that, as well as a last stern look of his cold eyes into hers, red and puffy from crying, Ashara knew the conversation was done for. She hadn't gotten much farther regarding her own issues, but surviving this man while revealing so much about her situation must count as an accomplishment of its own, she told herself. As she was watching him unfasten the leather straps that kept his armour together, still with her back pushed against the wall, the reality of her current worthlessness to her master dawned on her. Perhaps his undermining of her powers with his absence wasn't as much of a mistake as she had assumed.


End file.
